Finger-Painting Butterflies
by Magi Silverwolf
Summary: Death is inevitable. It is how we face it that makes the difference. (ToL)


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note:** This story is a part of a series of stories that I started back in high school—which is now a full dozen years in the past. The _Tapestry of Life_ series has been sitting outlined and half-written in my WIP folder for over eleven years now. Life has a way of distracting writers, and in this, I am no different. I know it was eleven years ago because my oldest turned eleven this past May and I put away the story, for the most part, during the complications of my pregnancy with her. While there are many 'ships throughout the story, the series is a Prudent Potions story at its heart—a Severus/Hermione. It is not a happy story for them. The series really started with a story challenge that I can't even remember where I found it—which became the basis of _Weaving Lives_. If you are reading this without having read that one (which I actually recommend as it's been up for a re-edit for years now, since I mangled it trying to make it HBP compliant), you're going to be a bit confused. The main thing to remember is that the Second War with Voldemort ended much differently than it did in the books (as WL was written prior to HBP coming out) and after many years, Hermione went to a specialized mediwitch who used a specific wand/magic to create the conception of the twins. The name of this story comes from _The Ultimate Gift_ ; in particular, it is from Emily's monologue in the hospital sanctuary after Jason finds out that she has leukemia.

 **Author's Note (02):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Subject [Task No.]** : n/a  
 **Prompt[s]** : n/a  
 **Word Count** : 2402

-= LP =-

Finger Painting Butterflies

-= LP =-

"Neither love nor hate thy life; but what thou livest, live well, however long or short may the heavens permit."

– John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

-= LP =-

Hermione's heart froze at the mediwitch's words. A small part of her had already accepted it. The rest was still in shock. She could feel her limbs shaking as a sudden cold swept through her soul. Sera and Eddie's faces swam in front of her mind's eye. She couldn't leave them, not when she had fought so hard to get them and then keep them. Who would take care of them? This cannot be happening.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm afraid so, Miss Granger."

Hermione shivered. Everything she had just learned circled around the name of her problem. She hadn't felt this way since she had woke up in the Hospital Wing after the Final Battle. This feeling of knowing the truth and still denying it was uncomfortable. Already, her mind was betraying her by making lists of things to be done, a habit built up over a lifetime of running from crisis to crisis. At least most of her problems lately had nothing to do with Dark Lords. The crises of managing the ever-growing number of family members was far less likely to end with someone's death. Her own being the exception apparently. Her emotions may still have been reacting, but Hermione had always been good at making plans.

"How long?"

"There's no way to be certain. It could be tomorrow or it could not matter at all. Stress will, of course, shorten the time." The last bit had the air of an afterthought.

Hermione let out an undignified snort. Like she could eliminate stress. She had two ten-year-olds. They were a handful by themselves, but when you added their friends—her godchildren and her honorary nieces and nephews—they became hellions. Sera seemed to have inherited her father's way of taking orders, which was to say that she took them and then did whatever she wanted to anyway—whatever she had calculated as the best value of risk versus reward. Hermione _knew_ Eddie had gotten his protective streak from her, but those eyes… those eyes were from his father.

"In the muggle world, they can sometimes operate—"

"You may check into that barbaric practice, of course," the woman said with only the faintest trace of disdain. Hermione couldn't even spare the thoughts to be impressed at that. "But due to the location of the clot, I would recommend against the idea. Cutting into the area has a good chance of jostling it into movement, not to mention the inherent dangers of such a surgery."

"There has to be something I can do," Hermione begged, not caring about the pity she saw in the Healer's eyes. Diligently, she listened about a potion that _might_ help dissolve the clot, but the vein would remain weak in that area. There was a good deal of potential for the spot to burst, flooding the surrounding tissue. Magic, as wondrous as it was, still hadn't found a way to completely heal this. Learning that information felt very similar to realizing that no one was going to save the students from Umbridge, even when she was torturing them or that magic did not solve world problems like racism and slavery.

"I strongly recommend getting your affairs in order, Ms. Granger," the mediwitch finished. Hermione nodded in response. The twins had to be her first priority. While Claudia Zabini was certain to make sure they were taken care of as the Head of their family, day-to-day care had to be arranged. But who? Her children would be lost among Ginny's brood, no matter how very willing Ginny would be to take them. Harry would also be willing to take them in, but that may propose problems down the road if the obvious crush Eddie clearly had on Celestine, and the girl's just-as-obvious crush in return, developed into anything. Blaise would not be a bad idea and due to the general misconception that he was the twins' father, many people would expect them to go to him. Claudia would approve of the lack of scandal in that.

As she left the hospital, thoughts buzzed through her head. Everything seemed too much. This was so much bigger than she was. She had faced impending death in the past, but there was always the hope that if she planned enough and fought hard enough, that she may just survive the war. That hope became recognized eventually, even if it had taken a hefty price to earn it. This time, it didn't seem nearly as likely to turn out well. How would she get through this? She disapparated without a clear designation in mind. The Gryffindor was not surprised to see Hogwarts' front gates with their rampant flying pigs before her.

Hermione stared at the castle looming above her. Hogwarts had always been her beacon of hope, it seemed. When she was a child, she had wished that there were others like her out there. Hogwarts promised her that she would find her place in the world. During the war, it became a refuge, harboring her and others against the terrors that the Dark held. It made sense to her that she would find herself looking at it now. She needed hope.

' _Now that I am once more facing death.'_

She swallowed back a sob as recent memory threatened to swamp her. She forced her thoughts backwards through time. Even the war seemed to be better than what was going on now. She focused on Luna's face when she had found her after the Ravenclaw had gone missing just days prior to the end of the war. That dreamy smile was etched into Hermione's memory.

' _Will I smile like that?'_

She shivered at the thought. The tide of memories threatened to drown her. A flash of Neville covered in his mother's blood replaced the image of Luna's broken body only to be replaced in turn by Ron crumpling before her eyes. Dennis Creevy's desperate pleas almost drowned out those of Natalie McDonald as she begged those treating her injuries to just let her die. And through it all, the memory of _his_ coal-black eyes burned. She shivered again, harder this time.

' _Does this count as stress?'_

Thunder rolled in the distance. It would rain soon, she knew. The air already felt like it. Wind snaked its way through her clothes. Dimly, she noticed that she didn't have her cloak with her. She should probably go home before the rain arrived. It was the smartest move.

Hermione moved, but not to go home. She opened the gate and slipped through the small opening. Gravel crunched beneath her feet. Despite the lack of visible greeting, someone had left the main doors open, a silent invitation. Her feet traced the path to the dungeons. All of this was still familiar, as if it had just been last week that she last visited, not more than seventeen years.

The door was in front of her before she paused again. Somewhere far off, she could hear the clock tower sounding an hour. A small part of her wondered if it was eight o'clock. Her body shivered again. She raised her arm only to have it fall back to her side unused. _'This is rubbish. He's not the kind of person to offer comfort to the emotionally distressed; you know this, Hermione. You shouldn't be here, especially like this. Oh, sweet Circe...'_

He had barely changed over the years since she worked her way into a position as his personal assistant in order to weasel the recipe for the Anima Arcana Elixir out of him. Even after all this time, he remained intimidatingly imposing. His black hair still came down in a dark curtain around his face. His midnight eyes glared down his Roman nose. Small, barely noticeable lines accented his eyes and mouth. His arms were crossed in front of him. Par for the course, he wore unrelieved black. Fortunately, he was considerably less shallow than he had been during the war.

"Well, Ms. Granger, were you planning on knocking or to just stand there like a toadstool?"

"I was—A toadstool?"

"Oh, and what are you now, Ms. Granger?"

"A mother," she answered before she recovered use of her faculties. Their eyes met. The truth hung between them, unspoken. Of course he knew this. Claudia had made him the twins' tutor in potions. He'd been a constant at Pendragon Castle since Claudia had declared the twins old enough to begin potion lessons two years ago. Even before that, Claudia would engineer events where the entirety of the Prince family had to be seen together. Severus had even been at the birth of the twins, though that was more by accident than by design.

Severus broke their little contest and silently gestured for her to enter. She did so, shivering as she felt the warmth of him as she passed at the still very respectable distance they had maintained for the last seventeen years since the end of the Second War. With a calm demeanor that she did not truly feel, Hermione took a seat in the hard wooden chair before his desk. The snick of the door closing echoed in the small room.

"Indeed, Ms. Granger," the potion master said as he took his own seat. He leaned forward and, with his elbows on the desktop, put his chin in his palms. His black eyes examined her as if she was some interesting species of bug. It failed to make her squirm as it had when she was a student working with him after curfew. Claudia Zabini's measuring gaze was much harder to endure. _This_ Prince had nothing on the Head of the family. "Have you come to discuss how I should not challenge Seraphim out of fear of making Eduardo aware of his own inferiority again? I will inform you once again that Seraphim has the potential of being a great potion mistress someday, one that I feel will bring about many great revolutions to the field. While Eduardo is adequate and will function well enough to gain a N.E.W.T. in Potions, he simply is not on par with his sister and I refuse to cater to him at the expense of Seraphim."

"Eddie is not inferior," Hermione snapped, forgetting her worries over her health in the face of his snide tones. Like any mother, she was defensive of her child. Eddie devoured books and could easily recite the texts back to any adult who quizzed him. He reminded Hermione very much of herself at that age. Severus sighed softly and dropped his hands. When he spoke, his voice was resigned.

"Yes, Hermione, he is—to his _sister_. He is very much his mother's son: meticulous, knowledgeable, _adequate_. He would receive a perfect 'O' on every potion he had a recipe for put in front of him. He might even be able to correct someone else's mistakes on a potion to salvage a workable result. If he does not manage an 'O' on his O.W.L exam, he should be punished severely because he is fully capable of it." Hermione met Severus' eyes again, surprised by the unexpected praise of both Eddie and herself. Severus gestured, a flourish of elegant hands that Hermione knew was meant to be the equivalent of shrug. "Seraphim is an artist. I refer to more than that little sketchbook that Blaise got her. She does not simply follow a recipe; she _creates_. Her potions will always be more than perfect because of that. Already, she speaks of theories beyond her knowledge level. I will sponsor her myself when she is old enough. Were she not ten, I would be pleased to call her my apprentice now. She has great potential. I refuse to smother that for foolish pride!"

"Oh, and you would know about foolish pride, wouldn't you?"

The words were out before she could think to stop them. Like shutters before the storm, Hermione watched as the openness in Severus' expression disappeared. Once again, Ron's death and the sheer stupidity that surrounded the three of them—Ron, Severus, and herself—before that moment was dragged between them. The magnetic attraction was there, along with every rational reason they had come up with over the years to deny its pull.

"Severus, I'm sor—"

"Why are you really here, Ms. Granger?"

"I…"

"If you cannot articulate a reason, I believe there is nothing left to discuss. Claudia is the only one who can dictate how I teach the Prince heirs. If you have a problem with how I choose to do so, I suggest taking it up with _her_. But know this, just because I will not hold Seraphim back for Eduardo's sake, it doesn't mean that I do not care for the boy's _feelings_."

"I'm—"

"Leave, Ms. Granger, before I have a house elf escort you out."

Hermione sighed and rose from her seat. She paused at the door, uncertain about her feelings. Once more, the decision to hide the twins' parenthood chafed at her. She turned back, the truth on the tip of her tongue despite the fact that it would change everything. He glared at her and stabbed a finger at the door behind her. His stony face resembled Sera's at her most mulish.

"OUT!" he demanded.

Any courage she had fled. On instinct, she yanked the door opened and bolted from the dungeons. Only after she had reached the edge of the wards did she slow. She gave Hogwarts one last glance. It was not her refuge any longer. It was _his_.

In that moment of realization, she knew what she would do. Her secret… she could not let it follow her to her grave. Claudia, Blaise, and the others of her little makeshift family, would keep it for her. She knew this. Harry would gladly take in the twins. Ginny would not hesitate either. Even Blaise, the chronic bachelor despite his devotion to Seamus, would step into the parental role in a heartbeat.

With the very real possibility of her death breathing in her ear, she knew what had to be done. The twins—they were _hers_. This was very true. But they were also _his_ , despite his ignorance of that. As she disappeared with a silent swish, the truth burned through her like the image of his eyes which haunted her sleep.

Who better to look after her precious children than their father?


End file.
